


Fic: Let Go (1/1)

by sevendeadlyfun



Category: Jossverse
Genre: Between Seasons/Series, Community: tamingthemuse, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-29
Updated: 2010-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-11 07:45:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevendeadlyfun/pseuds/sevendeadlyfun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>"I was never, ever wanted," he says softly, eyes fixed firmly forward. "Not by my parents, not by the Council, not by the woman I love..."</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Fic: Let Go (1/1)

_ **Fic: Let Go (1/1)** _

Pairing: Spike/Wesley

Rating: R

Summary: _"I was never, ever wanted," he says softly, eyes fixed firmly forward. "Not by my parents, not by the Council, not by the woman I love..."_

__A/N: Written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/tamingthemuse/profile)[**tamingthemuse**](http://community.livejournal.com/tamingthemuse/) prompt #85**-topaz** and [](http://jaded-jamie.livejournal.com/profile)[**jaded_jamie**](http://jaded-jamie.livejournal.com/)'s prompt _"pairing Spesley during that time when Wes was an outcast and just after Angel tried to kill him and the prompt is "I was never ever wanted". _It was very helpful, hon and thanks so much for the inspiration! Takes place near the very end of BtVS Season 6 but before the beginning of AtS Season 4. The shows seasons don't actually line up real well, if you take a look at it...

  


"I was never, ever wanted," he says softly, eyes fixed firmly forward. "Not by my parents, not by the Council, not by the woman I love. Hell, even Angel only kept me around because…" His voice trails off. He can't bear to finish that thought because saying it aloud will make it true.

A wisp of smoke drifts in front of his face, tickling his nose. He's not sure why he hasn't staked Spike yet. The infamous Slayer of Slayers has no soul, no purpose. He's an animal to be destroyed, an evil demon that the righteous Wesley Wyndham-Price would have directed his Slayer to stake. Except he's not that Wesley anymore; no Slayer, no righteousness, and the demon standing next to him is as close as he can get to Angel.

Spike inhales deeply and lets the smoke warm his dead lungs. He can still taste the other man, a bitterness coating the back of his throat. Nancy boy's ramblings rattle around inside his head, shaking loose fragments of an entire unlife spent as second best.

"Know what you mean, mate." Spike finally replies. "Nothing worse than hearing the wrong name mid-shag, yeah?"

Wesley nods. Absently, distantly, because he's not really sure whose name he screamed. He's pretty sure he screamed, Spike's mouth forcing the noise from him as expertly as the rough, violent orgasm that followed. He might have screamed for Angel. He wants Angel now, wants to plead for forgiveness and a chance to make it all right.

They stand together, the balcony of Wesley's apartment suddenly vast and forbidding. Angel's there, in between them; his glowering presence wholly imaginary but impossible to ignore. Both of them chosen and then rejected, Wesley thinks wryly. Angel's bastard boys, found wanting and left to wonder what it was they lacked.

Spike throws the still-glowing embers of his fag to the ground and pushes through the thick silence. His lips find Wesley's, a painful kiss full of shared grief and loss. He wonders briefly if he still tastes of ashes. Will the Watcher taste them, the regret and need that coat him and hold him fast?  
   
Their tongues dance and tangle, press and retreat and still, Angel is between them.  Spike pushes back, almost bouncing off the wrought iron railing of the balcony. He's gasping for unnecessary air, and for a moment Wes struggles not to laugh. What in blazes does one do when a vampire starts hyperventilating?

There's a brief flash of topaz, Spike's eyes flickering in a complicated semaphore signal, messages Wesley can't interpret. This part of Spike, alien and almost unreal, is uncomfortable for Wes. Angel keeps this hidden, his primitive self as unwelcome as a social disease; yet now, he experiences a bizarre longing to see that Angel, primal and feral. He rubs his throat, fingers tracing the thin scar that is his last reminder of his life with Angel.

Spike stands, and he too is touching his throat. His fingers trace a centuries old scar, pale white and thick where Wesley's is new and red and raw. Wesley stares, wondering how this happened, how they both became so scarred.

"Much as I'd love to stay here and share this touching breakdown," Spike says, his bravado not able to disguise the simple truth of those words, "think it's time I was anywhere else but here."

Spike strides away, and he can feel those too-knowing eyes burning holes into his skin. Daddy's newest failure and that thought burns him because he's ancient history to Angelus, not even worth killing. The thought of going back to Sunnydale, to a woman who doesn't love him, is worse. Spike refuses to fold, refuses to let go. He'll make her see it, make her feel it. 

Wes watches him walk away, grateful that Spike is so willing to walk away. Could he, Wes muses idly, have walked away so easily. He shakes his head. He knows better. He's never been able to let go of anything; old slights and hurts still sit in the pit of his belly, festering. That's why he's standing on his balcony at 3 in the morning, body still reeking of Spike and mind wrapped up in Angel. He just can't let go.

  
__


End file.
